


Freckles and Fingertips

by imaginary_iby



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: 3.06 episode tag, Episode Tag, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-13
Updated: 2012-11-13
Packaged: 2017-11-18 14:18:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_iby/pseuds/imaginary_iby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve thought that he knew every inch of Danny’s skin; every scar, every freckle, every blemish and crease and curve. However, when he's faced with the weight of the past, he slowly begins to realize that there is more to Danny’s body than meets the eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freckles and Fingertips

**Author's Note:**

> I am about 95% asleep. I was so excited about this episode that waiting for it and watching it genuinely sapped my energy. A fangirl's work is never done. I have re-read this several times, however please excuse any oddities for the time being.

There was _something_ about Danny’s skin, something amazing about the way it caught the sunlight. Oh, it was pale, there was no denying it. So pale that Kono liked to tease him about it every now and then; she’d grab his hand when they were out for evening drinks, hold their arms up side by side and call him her freckly little mainlander.

(And if Steve would always steal Danny’s arm back at the first available opportunity, well, that was neither here nor there).

And yet, despite all of this, despite his interminably cream skin, Danny was _always_ golden in the morning light. In the quiet moments, the moments that only he and Steve shared, he would snoozily bask in the streaks of sun and soak in the rays like they were old friends.

It was the dusting of freckles across the stretch of his shoulders; it was the crisp light belly hair; it was the blue eyes that always twinkled when he blinked them open, (even if he only did so to scowl at the broad beams of light stealing into their bedroom). It was the blonde ruffles of his hair, tugged this way and that by sleep and sex and, yes, snuggling; it was the smooth pink curve of his lips, be they pulled into a pout or stretched into a smile. 

All of these things conspired to make him shimmer a little, gorgeously contrasted against the cool crisp white linen.

Steve had spent more hours than he dared to contemplate, stroking and kissing and grasping and gripping every inch of the golden body now sprawled beside him. 

He’d played connect-the-dots with Danny’s freckles whilst moderately drunk early one Sunday morning. (Danny, uncharacteristically indulgent, had simply rolled onto his belly with a laugh and pillowed his head on his arms, drifting back to sleep). 

He'd sucked a hickey into the crease of Danny’s hip, fueled by a streak of possessive fire in the face of an overly flirtatious waitress. 

He’d come all across the small of Danny’s back, cock sliding tight between the crease of his pale ass, intriguing cream streaks painting randomly between the freckles. He’d smeared his fingers into the drying mess, sliding his hand down and pressing his wet fingertips inside Danny’s body with deliberate intent – hell, he had let Danny do the same thing in return.

So, yes. Steve had thought that he knew every inch of Danny’s skin, inside and out. He’d thought that he knew every freckle, every scar, every angle, every little crease and wrinkle and quirk.

But as Danny now slept beside him, completely exhausted, Steve wasn’t too sure how thoroughly he knew Danny’s skin at all. He watched as Danny shifted, rolling onto his back and flinging an arm up above his head, the sheet pooling down around his narrow hips. 

With a deep breath, Steve drunk in the sight of him for as long as he could stand before finally giving in to the need to touch. Gently, so as not to wake his partner, he reached forward and smoothed his palm to Danny’s naked stomach. He spread his fingers wide, trying to reach everything at once, nails scratching softly into the thatch of blonde hair. Danny’s belly, taut and fuzzy and familiar, had once been punched and beaten.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise. Danny was feisty, and physical, and he faced danger full steam ahead. But for some reason, (perhaps because it was too distressing to ponder), Steve had never really contemplated all of the blows that Danny’s body had taken in those shadowy years before they had met.

With a sigh, Steve traced a fingertip up, up, to the curve of Danny’s cheek. He ghosted his thumb over the softly sloped bone, picturing it being bruised and battered repeatedly.

He wasn’t surprised that Danny hadn’t given in to torture. His partner might not have had the training, but he certainly had the mental fortitude – hell, even just the smart-ass spark – to withstand whatever was thrown his way.

Nevertheless, the image of Danny being beaten played vividly in Steve’s mind, over and over and over again until he had to squeeze his eyes shut in an effort to block it out. Smears of blood against pale cheeks. Smacked bone, aching and sore, yet resistant, utterly unwilling to bend. Rivulets of blood gathering between knocked teeth and a bitten tongue, only to be spat out on the floor in challenge.

With a deep breath, Steve forced himself to move his fingers, pulling away a little when Danny snuffled in his sleep. Eventually, he resumed his journey, smoothing his thumb along the muscles of Danny’s wide, strong shoulders, down to the soft pale crease of his elbow. (Steve didn’t dare touch there, he knew how ticklish Danny was).

Finally, he came to a stop at Danny’s wrist. He curled his fingers all the way around the joint, seemingly delicate and small and yet, in truth, strong and powerful and dangerous. Eventually, he slid his palm against Danny’s, twining their fingers together. This very hand had almost been lost. All of the things it had done to him, done to his body, all of the lives it had saved with the pull of the trigger – they had so very nearly been taken by the swing of a cleaver.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was squeezing Danny’s hand with brutal determination, a need that he couldn’t deny and wasn’t in control of. He tried to relax his grip, even as Danny started awake with a frown, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t, he couldn’t let go.

“Babe, hey, hey,” Danny whispered, rolling onto his side to press his free hand to Steve’s hip. As he did so, he shifted into a pool of light that was melting its way across their bed.

“I can’t, I-” Steve cut off, trying and failing to breathe deeply. “I can’t let... Iet go.” He tried to focus on the way Danny’s hair caught the streaks of sun, on the way the light illuminated the play of strong muscle beneath pale skin.

Danny hushed him softly. “It’s okay,” he soothed. “You don’t have to. You don’t have to let go.”

The sun went about its daily journey, casting the room in a variety of shadows and sparkles. Through it all they lay side by side, hands held tight. 

Just holding on.


End file.
